Page 115 of Under the Lies

The pits of hell are even more crowded than the last time. The air is more potent. Everyone buzzing with anticipation.

Thea, without the assistance of Gabe and Reeve this time, elbows our way through the crowd until we’re up on the chained link fence.

The ring is empty.

“Where are they?”

“This fight is a little different,” Thea tells me as if she heard my thoughts. “Noah and Seamus are going to be making an entrance.”

As Thea’s explaining, the lights go off in the ring and a hush falls around the crowded room.

Everyone antsy with what’s to come.

Two mega lights flip on, each illuminating the entrances to the ring, Spotlights that capture our opponents.

“In one corner,” Thea whispers for only me to hear. “Weighing in at two hundred and ten barrels of whiskey we have Seamus Kelly.”

The crowd goes wild, screaming and booing. Someone even throws a shoe. Seamus remains unfazed, a cool look of indifference on his face, the robe he wears falling to the ground when entering the ring, showing his stalk of fiery red hair.

“And in the other corner,” she continues. “Weighing two hundred twenty pounds of bad attitude is Noah Kincaid.”

Noah steps out and the screams are deafening. But he remains wholly unaffected as he makes his way down the small walkway, dropping his robe as he goes. He doesn’t stop until he’s in the center of the ring, his sole focus on Seamus.

Reeve, dressed in a black and white striped blazer with no shirt, who is the ref, makes the two opponents step forward. I watch his lips move but can’t make out the words.

He steps away as Seamus springs forward. Squaring a fist in Noah’s jaw.

I cringe, my stomach twisting, feeling the hit as if it was my own.

But Noah doesn’t waste any time with his retaliation. He attacks Seamus with a vigor I’ve never seen from him, punches with a vigor that shouldn’t belong to any man.

He hits and hits and hits, landing on Seamus’s ribcage, his shoulder, his gut and everywhere in between, leaving welts the size of fists in his wake.

Next to me, I feel Thea cringe with every hit Noah lands. I stare at her.

When she sees my questioning gaze, she looks away with a hardened face. “Kick his ass, Noah!” she screams.

The fight is dirty and gritty, neither man holding anything back. A couple of minutes in and already sweat sheens their bodies.

“When does the fight end?” I shout in Thea’s ear. The crowd rowdier than the other night.

“When one of them can’t stand up anymore.”

Vicious. Archaic. People really enjoy this? I don’t understand it, not when my gut tightens and churns.

My throat closes when Seamus gets out of the hold Noah had him in, slamming an elbow on Noah’s back. He stumbles before righting himself.

Unable to stomach anymore, I look around at the crowd. Hoping that will distract me when I see a figure who catches my attention.

Not because I recognize them or because they stick out in a crowd. I notice them because they shouldn’t.

Dark pants, baggy jacket, and low hood pulled over their head.

Noah and his friends wear similar attire all the time.

It shouldn’t matter to me, it shouldn’t be worthy of garnering my attention.

But it does.

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